Tutelary
by Bowles
Summary: Even when Tom Riddle was a boy, Dumbledore was already planning his next move. With his death, everything has come to fruition.


What do you get when you put together an eight-month-old idea with insomnia? This. 

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter.

Tutelary

Victory.

That's precisely what you're feeling at this point. Or what you're wanting to feel, rather.

Instead, you feel cheated. Tricked.

Relieved, perhaps?

You always told yourself that _you_ would be the one to kill Albus Dumbledore. You always told yourself that _you _would bring down the Only One He Ever Feared.

You, after all, were exceptional.

That's not what you told yourself. That's a fact. I will admit to that, at least; you were possibly the greatest wizard to have ever walked the earth.

Great… but terrible.

You knew it, as well. I recognized it instantly, of course. One exceptional student wasn't going to hide his secrets from an experienced professor like myself. I was one of the world's leading Legilimens, of course.

Before we go any further, I must excuse myself if I appear arrogant. Pride is not a pretty color for one such as myself to wear. But, for once, I know that my labors have come to fruition.

You should have seen it, Tom. It was beautiful.

If I do say so myself.

But you never would see it. You didn't want to see it. You were proud from the start. Your confidence bordered on cockiness; your swagger bordered on curtness.

That is precisely why it all worked out. Every last piece fell into place. Everything went according to plan.

But then again, I'd known it would from the start.

-

_The hallways that ran throughout the castle were illuminated by an elaborate set of torches – not that one as talented as himself needed them. Even in the thick of night, when many of the flames had been extinguished, he saw as if it were bright as day. He always had been talented like that, ever since he was a boy at the orphanage._

_However, there were others that knew the castle well and had their own talents, their own secrets._

_One of the others was _him

"_Mr. Riddle."_

_Tom whipped around, glaring fiercely ahead. Standing in a narrow doorway was a tall, thin man with an auburn bush of a beard that ran down to his hips. He was peering at the boy over his half-moon spectacles in that aggravating way of his, with that cocky little smile on his face._

"_Professor Dumbledore," he addressed him with a false politeness. He was well accustomed to sweet-talking his teachers; charm was just one of his many assets. "I didn't see you there."_

_Dumbledore's smile widened for a split second. "I didn't expect you to, to tell the truth. Although what you've done with your eyes is quite handy."_

_Tom nearly lost his composure. That was _his_ secret. His talent. How did this old fool know about it? Was he being spied on?_

"_Don't look so shocked, dear boy," chuckled the professor quietly. "You're neither the first nor the last with such a skill."_

"_Of course not, professor." Tom smiled thinly. "I would never expect to be."_

"_Ah, Mr. Riddle, I assume there are many things that you expect to be." Dumbledore's eyes dimmed as a torch flickered in the background. "Or shall expect to be, at the very least."_

"_I'm sorry, professor, but I haven't the slightest as to what that should mean."_

_Dumbledore smiled, his eyes alive once more. "No? Oh, don't worry. You shall, my boy, you shall."_

"_Well…" Tom stared down the corridor. "I should probably be off, professor."_

"_Don't think I've completely forgotten that you're standing in the hallways at two o'clock in the morning, Mr. Riddle," stated his counterpart in a matter-of-fact voice, as if describing the color of his socks. "My mind isn't quite that gone yet."_

"_I wasn't, sir," Tom replied. "Thinking, I mean."_

"_That you weren't," said Dumbledore. Strangely, the words did not sound half as malignant coming out of his mouth as they should have. "Now, tell me, Mr. Riddle, what are you doing standing in the hallways at two o'clock in the morning?"_

"_The restroom, professor."_

"_The restroom?" Dumbledore furrowed his brows. "What's the matter with the restroom in the Slytherin dormitories?"_

_Tom's lips pursed. "Broken, sir. Some of the older boys were experimenting on them. All kinds of advanced magic."_

"_Transfiguration, perhaps?"_

_It was a trap. Tom knew it. The blasted old man was just looking for an excuse to enter the dormitories and catch him in the act of lying. _

"_No, sir. No transfiguration at all. The older boys aren't adept at it."_

"_Too true, unfortunately." He adjusted his spectacles. "Well, I shall have to let you pass, Mr. Riddle. Though I would advise you not to stray. I will be watching. I have… talents of my own."_

_Before Tom could reply he had disappeared into the darkness._

-

Now do you realize – realize how I had you from the start? I wasted no time in analyzing your strengths, your weaknesses. Ever since I had met you in your orphanage I knew what you would become.

Perhaps that's too strong. I never knew how terrible you would become, and even then I hoped that my predictions were inaccurate. But, as is often the case, being marginally cleverer than the common man, my predictions usually aim true.

But I was always planning. Plotting your demise, really. Just as you were plotting mine.

Let's not kid ourselves, Tom. You always knew that I stood in your way. Your instincts told you so.

But you underestimated me. As soon as I heard the prophecy, I knew how much power I held. I knew that I had the ultimate knowledge. You had pieces; I had the fully constructed artifact.

You went after Harry. I'll concede that you fooled us all – Peter was not an obvious choice. I had been wary when they chose Sirius, and even more so with Peter, but never would I have guessed it to be true.

But that's where that tricky little clause came into play.

_The Dark Lord will mark him as his equal._

I'd always wondered what precisely that indicated. I knew what it meant, though.

It meant that the real struggle had yet to begin. For first you had to fulfill the last requirement.

After your attack on Godric's Hollow I began weaving my web. The protections on the Dursleys' house were of the utmost quality; I found myself wishing that you would try something foolhardy and actually make an attempt on Harry's "home". The magic was ancient, and better yet, it was pure, no matter how much Petunia Dursley and Harry Potter despised each other so.

There was one hitch in my plan, though: I did not know what your secret weapon was. I had made many assumptions. Horcruxes were just one of many. Perhaps I did not wish to think that you would contaminate your soul. Perhaps I still held hope.

But your intentions – I knew your intentions all along.

-

_Dust hung in the air; the smell of the area was bitter with death._

_Such was all of Europe during those turbulent times. 1945 was not the greatest time to be an Englishman._

_But the fort was worse. It was old – possibly predating the Crusades. Southern Germany was relatively warm in the summers, although on this day it was cool and damp._

_Grindelwald was gone._

_He'd put up quite a fight. The deaths that had occurred within his fortress were legendary, horrific. The men he had murdered to protect himself were possibly more horrifying. The greatest witches and wizards of the age had fallen to him. None had prevailed._

_Yet finally, Grindelwald had fallen._

_Albus knew it wasn't permanent – peace never was. But it was a minor victory, at least. He had in some sense avenged his allies._

_But he was not foolish enough to assume that defeating Grindelwald would erase his legacy. No, legacies were not won and destroyed in battle; they were only eradicated when all traces of a thought process, of an idea, had been eradicated. And that, he knew, took time._

_He was patient, though. He could wait._

_It wasn't the waiting that nagged at him. It was the actual eradication._

_Sixteen years of terror… sixteen years of Grindelwald tutoring his pupils, showing them how to terrorize, how to horrify._

_He'd defeated the master. Now he must find the students._

"_Dumbledore."_

_He turned slowly and smiled, peering at the teen over his spectacles. "Tom. I'd say it's good to see you, but that would be dishonest."_

"_Oh?" Riddle looked around the area and nodded to himself. "Oh. Yes. I see. Although I must warn you that it's _not_ what you think."_

"_I'd like to believe that, Tom. Evidence would be nice."_

"_I have none of that, Dumbledore," replied the boy. "These are confusing times."_

"_An explanation shall suffice, then."_

"_My business here is not of any great interest to one such as yourself, I can assure you," Riddle stated casually, his wand hand twitching. "I obviously am not associated with Grindelwald; I am not weeping at his downfall."_

"_Then what precisely is your business here?"_

_The boy stopped and frowned. "My business here is of a… is of an educational merit."_

"_I see," Albus said. "It is an odd place to look for tutelage, Tom. A very odd place. Morbid, perhaps."_

"_I'd much prefer a fair and balanced perspective – a morbid perspective, even – than the propaganda that the government feeds you," Riddle breathed, suddenly more passionate. "I will not settle for mediocrity."_

"_Nor would I expect you to. I was just commenting on the improbability of such a situation."_

"_Improbable or not, it has occurred. And frankly it is not of your concern, professor."_

_Albus smiled grimly. "As you can see, Tom, everything is of my concern."_

"_Yes." The boy's eyes narrowed. "That is… unfortunate."_

_All of a sudden there was a gust of wind, and Riddle looked up for the first time._

"_I must be leaving," he said swiftly. "I have more pressing matters to attend to."_

"_Ah, I see." Albus gripped his wand more tightly. "I suppose I shall see you occasionally?"_

"_I would not count on it," he stated. "I shall be very busy."_

"_That's unfortunate."_

"_It is." Riddle straightened up. "Goodbye, Dumbledore."_

_With a loud crack, he was gone._

-

It was then that I recognized what lengths you would go to for your desires, for your goals. I never before had thought of you as that passionate. Your desperation surprised me, your need for a mentor even more so.

Although I suppose Grindelwald taught you many things. You both are very similar in your tactics.

Unfortunately for you, he never taught you how to avoid being taken down as he was. He made a mistake. Others capitalized on it. It is the way of the world. It is the way of war.

You tried to avoid it, but in the end, you were only human. You too made your mistakes, and you paid the price.

I thought you had learned your lesson when you went after Harry.

It appears that I was wrong.

You think you have scored a major victory by killing me. Let me only say that you instead have insured your downfall.

Do you not yet see it? Do you not yet see this beautiful trap that you have walked right into, this trap that I have so carefully prepared?

You believe that you have many loyal followers. Followers that have brought down buildings, that have terrorized families, that have killed your greatest enemies.

Yet loyalty is your greatest weakness. In the end, when you are gasping for life, where will your followers be?

You overestimated my value. I was not really that important any more; I had served my purpose. All tools were at Harry's disposal. He, after all, was the one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord. I was just a mentor, a spectator.

I was merely a sacrifice. It's a pity you never were interested in chess; it's a common thing, sacrificing your pieces. I was just a pawn in this grand game. Do you not see it now?

You went after the pawn, while the king and his army advanced ever closer to victory.

Harry is closer than he realizes. Soon you will have to face death and battle it for the final time. This time you will not win.

It doesn't even matter if you see it any more, Tom. It's too late.

-

_He sat at his desk, eyes closed in concentration as various objects buzzed and whirred about him. The ring on his finger felt dark, cold – unfamiliar, really. He knew he was only wearing it as a token, a sign of his victory. Such arrogance could get a man killed in times like these._

_The Pensieve sat to his right, although he did not require it at this moment. The memories had all ready started rushing back to him – the boy in the orphanage, the boy's "special services to the school", the monster that used to be the boy asking for a job. It was strange to think that after all this time that maybe, just maybe, this had come to its end._

_He knew what the price of victory might be. But the pieces were all ready in motion; his plan was all ready under way. Besides, what was he in the grand scheme of things? He was growing weaker with every passing day. His life would soon become inconsequential, but that didn't matter. He realized that he was just a pawn in this grand game. And he had no fear of death._

_He smiled to himself and opened his eyes, glancing at the ring on his finger._

_Knowing this war would soon be over, he closed his eyes once more and addressed someone – perhaps no one at all._

"_Checkmate."_


End file.
